Tempted by a Sinner (Seven Sinners Book 4)

by A G Henderson

  “Maybe so,” he admitted. “But my point stands.”

  I leaned forward, rubbing our noses together. His gaze fell to my lips when I sat back, and I licked them because I was addicted to the way his entire presence swelled when he was focused on me.

  But before he could bring me closer and distract me—and before we tried to find enough space in his car to spread my legs—I slid from his grip and out into the cold.

  It wasn’t as harsh as it had been. Spring was fast approaching. I still shivered slightly as I moved towards the front door, and I wasn’t surprised when Tone cut ahead of me and grabbed the handle.

  He gave me another contemplative look, brows furrowing. I watched his reaction and tried to place it. It was a rare thing for him to look unsure. So when I pegged that emotion sliding across his face and vanishing, it made my heart skip a beat.

  Was it worse than I thought?

  Had those men come back and done even more damage?

  Impossible. I shook my head, banishing those doubts. Tone hadn’t told me what went on after he left, but he didn’t need to either. I trusted him. I knew him. He wasn’t the kind of guy to do things halfway.

  For him to be comfortable bringing me back here meant that whatever threat they posed had been taken care of.

  Momentarily, I wondered how I’d gone from a girl who hardly ever saw people fighting in real life, to being okay with a potential problem being taken care of.

  But then I dismissed that line of thought as well. The man I loved had both feet planted firmly in the underworld. As long as he did, I would be right there beside him. My own feet in the muck if that was what it took.

  “Tone,” I said, breaking him out of the trance he had slipped into.

  He cursed under his breath and flung the door wide, allowing me room to step through.

  And when I did...I spun in place so fast I made myself dizzy.

  “Oh my God,” I cried breathlessly.

  My hand went out, and I was grateful to find a solid surface to lean against because my shaking knees were threatening me with a swift trip to the floor otherwise.

  Pulse racing, tears filled my eyes and slipped down my cheeks as I stared at everything around me. Tone passed by me, barely a blur, heading to the back and throwing a light switch. With everything illuminated, my reaction was predictable.

  I cried even harder.

  Deep, gut-wrenching sobs that stole the strength in my body and sent me to the floor regardless of my attempt to stay standing. Tone returned to my side and sat down, crossing his legs at the ankles and staring at me with that same unsure look on his face.

  I couldn’t remember how to form words yet, so I didn’t. Instead of doing anything that complicated, I crawled into his lap and wrapped my arms around his neck while my head turned on a nonstop swivel.

  “You’re not mad?” he whispered in my ear, holding me closer.

  I shook my head and sniffed, running the sleeve of my hoodie beneath my nose before I started looking super gross. “How could I be mad?” My voice was strained from being forced past the massive freaking lump lodged in my throat. “Look around.”

  He had obviously known what we were walking into, so my demand should’ve meant less than nothing to him. But he looked around anyway, taking it in.

  The floors and walls were free of glass and scattered paint. The windows had been replaced. The chairs were back in one piece, and what I’d seen behind the counter before I dropped told me that it was restored as well.

  And not just restored.

  Everything looked exactly the same. It was like that day had never happened. The only indication that anything was different was the spot where my mom’s mural sat.

  He saw where I was looking. “You can never tell him that I gave away his involvement, but I had Axle put it back together. Thankfully, that he has a photographic memory and some serious skill.”

  I nodded. Skill was right. Recreating someone’s art from memory was no easy task, and yet I was staring at a perfect copy of the landscape I’d adopted as my logo. There was only one thing missing...

  The sun hadn’t been filled in.

  Tone buried his face in my neck. “Look down.”

  I did, clapping a hand over my mouth to stop the surprised, joyous scream that would’ve blown his eardrums out.

  Beneath the mural sat a can of unopened yellow paint, and a tabloid of brushes. Everything I needed to add the sun that had been left intentionally incomplete was right there, waiting for me to get to work.

  I shook my head, blinking fast. “How?” I asked him. “When?”

  Tone was quiet.

  Impatient, I started putting it together in my head. Over the last few weeks, after he made sure I got home safely, I would stare out my bedroom window until he drove away. Seeing as how he was always there the next morning when I got ready to leave, I figured he was heading to a hotel or something.

  It clicked then.

  I turned to face him, and he was smiling a soft smile that superheated my chest. “You came back here every night?”

  He nodded, taking my hand in his. “Just about. I can’t take all the credit. I asked several of the guys for help.” This man. “Getting rid of the paint and patching up the shelves and appliances in the back was probably the hardest-”

  I kissed him.

  Well, sort of.

  I tackled him to the floor and then pressed our lips together hard enough our teeth clicked. He chuckled into my mouth, arms banding around my back. We stayed like that, tongues rolling together lazily until my knees started to ache from being on the tile.

  As if he could sense it, he sat up, scooping me into his arms before depositing me on the shiny counter that no longer held a single flaw. He stepped between my legs, tugging at a lock of my hair.

  “You’re really not mad?” he asked, lips quirked.

  “I mean...not to point fingers or anything—even though that’s exactly what I’m about to do—this was kinda your fault.”

  “Ouch.”

  I caught him when he backed up a step, tugging him back towards me. My ankles locked behind him, sealing his escape route. “Am I wrong?”

  “Not even a bit,” he rumbled, looking so serious. The hint of his smile faltered. I couldn’t stand it.

  “Babe.” I cradled his face, staring deep into chocolate eyes that had done the unthinkable. “You put my dream back together. There’s not a fucking chance I could be upset with you for that.”

  His smile detonated. Mine exploded in a chain reaction. Soon, we were both grinning at each other from ear to ear like total and complete idiots at four o’clock in the morning.

  The backs of his fingers brushed my cheek. “I’m starting to think my foul language is rubbing off on you, Smoothie Girl.”

  “You can do a whole lot more rubbing off on me whenever you want,” I purred, reaching under his shirt and raking my nails down his tight stomach.

  Tone sucked in a breath, abs flexing. He leaned into me, hot and hard and perfect. “Keep talking like that,” he rumbled. “We’re gonna end up with a whole ‘nother mess to clean.”

  “In that case...” I pushed him away and hopped down, wagging a finger his direction. “I still can’t afford to be on the health inspector’s bad side. And that seems like a surefire way to get there.”

  “Say the word and I’ll threaten him for you.”

  My eyes narrowed. “I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”

  His lips curved. “Try me. There are perks to marrying an outlaw. Might as well start taking advantage of them. I’m running a special on fucking ending anyone who looks at you wrong this week for the low, low price of, because I can.”

  I cocked my hip and put my hand on it, proud of myself for not reacting to the m-word. “You’re so ridiculous.”

  “You think I’m joking.”

  No, I don’t. But humoring him further would go to his head. Someone had to keep his ego in check, and who better than me?

&nb
sp; Ignoring him completely, I crossed to the far wall and grabbed the tin of yellow paint. Popped it open. Got a brush ready and dipped it.

  Then I turned to him. “Come here.” He did without question. I held the handle out to him. “Paint with me.”

  He didn’t take it. “I’m good with my hands, baby, but not when it comes to this kind of thing.”

  I kept my arm extended. “I’m not asking you to channel Picasso. For five years, this has been my sun. Thinking about what it represents has gotten me through some of the hardest days of my life. Now, I’m sharing it with you. Even if you only fill in a single blob, it’ll be ours. And every time I see it, I’ll smile, knowing that the man I love will be with me for every new day that we come across.”

  He accepted the brush and stepped up beside me while I got mine ready. Despite his earlier reluctance, once he started, he didn’t stop. I joined him soon afterwards, and we lost ourselves to the soothing sounds of wet paint and soft bristles.

  It was fitting that the sun was starting to come up by the time we were done. I stepped back, observing our handiwork. Not perfect. But still better than ever before.

  Tone wrapped himself around my back, and it certainly wasn’t a paintbrush in his pockets that I could feel digging into my ass. “We should head back,” he growled.

  I batted my lashes at him over my shoulder. “Why is that?”

  “Because your future husband is fucking insatiable when it comes to you.” A shiver worked its way through me, and my heartbeat skipped. “That enough of a reason for you, Naomi?”

  Yeah.

  I didn’t argue.

  Epilogue

  Tone

  Could the concept of time be forced into a physical body and murdered?

  It sounded fantastical, but Creed looked up to the challenge. I’d watched him do more with less.

  He tapped his foot anxiously while Caitlin paced the hardwood floors of the clubhouse, hands roaming across her stomach. I wasn't sure how far along she was, but their baby boy had started kicking recently. Apparently, he packed a wallop just like his dad.

  According to her, the aimless walking calmed him back down.

  Back to what I was saying about time—without complaining on how we had been called here at the ass crack of dawn.

  I knew Creed would at least strangle the concept until it sped along his woman's pregnancy, if he could. Too bad he couldn't. Although, maybe he wouldn't be such an asshole once the baby came?

  Yeah. Right. And the tooth fairy exists.

  “A decision needs to be made,” Creed snapped, getting to his feet. Holding everyone’s attention hostage as he hovered there like a storm of fury.

  Naomi’s hand flexed in mine, but she kept her composure. Tex, Lizzy, and Axle mostly ignored the imminent rant. I couldn’t say the same for Asher’s sister.

  We had formed a circle around her in the living room. A blockade of muscle and unfriendly looks. I was sure the only reason she hadn’t found a corner to hide in was because she was sealed in.

  Teresa had her feet up on the chair she occupied, arms wrapped around her legs so she could peek out at us from behind her knees. Her eyes darted constantly, searching for escape routes that didn’t exist. She was naturally tanned, but you wouldn’t know it because she was pale as a sheet.

  Creed curled his lip. “Something needs to be done about this.” He flung his hand at the frightened woman and she flinched away from him.

  Lizzy huffed from her spot on Tex’s lap. “I know it’s hard for you. But can you tone down the psycho just a bit? It’s not her fault she got left here.”

  Creed’s hands fisted, eyes sparking. None of us missed the sudden tension in the room. The stillness that took over Tex.

  It was almost impressive how quickly this had gone downhill, considering our little meeting had just gotten started.

  Then Caitlin was there, filling her man’s arms. Creed buried his face in her red hair and went from looking murderous to more of a general sense of impending physical harm. Given his nature, that was the best we were going to get.

  “It doesn’t matter whose fault it is that she’s stuck here,” he said. “What matters is that the reason she’s here is because she’s a walking target. I don’t want her in my home. I don’t want her around Red. I don’t want to see her pathetic fucking face. Period.”

  Naomi leaned closer to me, pressing her lips to my ear. I tried to ignore how good it felt so I could actually listen. “Does someone show up to pee in his cereal every morning or something?”

  “You would think,” I muttered. “But nah. He’s always been this way. The man has no fuse. There’s just the explosion, and the brief pause before the shockwave and ball of fire hits.”

  His eyes sliced to mine, hard and angry. As usual. “Does the peanut gallery have something to add?”

  Naomi laughed and the growl died in my throat. Replaced by a low chuckle of my own.

  “Is. Something. Funny?” he bit out.

  I shook my head and placed a kiss on my girl’s cheek before I stood. Clapping my hands together, I ignored Creed’s glare. “Let’s not turn this into an all-day thing. You don’t want her anywhere near your increasingly pregnant girlfr-”

  “Fiancée.” Caitlin lifted a hand that held a gigantic black diamond.

  I blinked at her. “When did this happen?”

  “This morning,” Creed said, and they shared a look that was deep and meaningful.

  My chest warmed, the ache that would’ve once plagued me upon seeing such a display long gone. I met Naomi’s eyes and she blew me a kiss. I blew one right back at her, tuning out the variety of responses we garnered. Laughs. Cheers. Catcalls.

  None of them meant anything compared to how gigantic I felt knowing the love in those sunshine eyes was meant for me and me alone.

  I cleared my throat so my voice wouldn’t come out rough with need. “Moving on. We can’t keep her at the clubhouse. It’s not exactly the safest place anyway. So, we have to find somewhere else that’ll let us keep an eye on her.”

  I turned to the woman in question, and even though I didn’t take so much as a step towards her, she shrank back. Again, I was confronted by the sense of something being deeply wrong, but this time it had nothing to do with being under the mistaken assumption that she was dead.

  Teresa Palazzo had been something close to a queen in her own right, before the manufactured accident that took her off the board.

  Wherever she went in New York, people paid attention. Women copied the things she wore. Mimicked the dance moves they saw her doing. For fuck’s sake, I watched a video that showed a line of thousands wrapped around a graveyard to pay their respects.

  At one time, she had been loved. Hated. Feared. Respected.

  I understood that people were out for her life. Understood how scary that could be. But what the fuck had happened these last two years that turned her from royalty into...this?

  Using Creed’s turn of phrase put a bad taste in my mouth, but he was right.

  Now that her brother wasn’t around to be her shield, she barely acted like a person.

  “Where were you before Asher brought you here?” I asked her.

  She chewed at her lips. They were already cracked and broken from the near-constant worrying she did. Her mouth opened, and the slightest whisper came out. A whisper that froze my blood when my mind processed what I thought I heard.

  Naomi was on her feet first because she could read me the easiest, but Tex wasn’t far behind. Soon, the circle closed in around Teresa, and her breathing came faster, short pants like she was going to hyperventilate at any moment.

  “Say that again,” I told her, leaning forward to try and catch her frantic eyes. It didn’t help.

  Naomi clicked her tongue. “Give her some space,” she said, going around and moving people backwards. “Y’all are some serious hoverers. She’s freaked out enough as it is. You too, Tone.”

  I smiled on the inside, loving how easily she calle
d me out. No one would ever say Naomi Ives was weak or a pushover. And on the very, very slim chance that they did?

  I would break their jaw into so many places they might not say anything ever again. There was a name for that, wasn’t there?

  Positive reinforcement.

  I backed up several steps but remained in front the skittish woman. “Repeat that last bit. Please.”

  Teresa glanced around and licked her lips, before saying in a voice I had to strain to hear, “New Orleans.”

  A pin could’ve dropped somewhere out in the forest and we would’ve heard it from how silent the room got.

  I shared a look with the men on either side of me, catching the realization dawning in each of their eyes. I stopped on Creed, because a vein started bulging along his forehead.

  But when Caitlin fanned herself and said she needed to sit down, he forgot his rising anger. Creed immediately walked her towards the sofa and got her comfortable. My focus returned to the other two Sinners.

  Tex materialized a toothpick from somewhere and slid it around in his mouth. “Why do I get the feeling this isn’t going to be a coincidence?”

  Axle scoffed, speaking for the first time instead of staring daggers at the cowering woman in the middle of us. “Because it won’t be. That motherfucker has been causing trouble from the moment he left. There’s no fucking way that he’s not involved in this.”

  I knew exactly who he was talking about, and I saw Lizzy and Naomi catch on a moment later. I was glad I’d taken the time to fill her in, despite her insistence that she would understand if I kept club business to myself.

  If it pertained to me, she deserved to be in the know.

  So she was aware that there was only one man out there who had ever turned his back on the Sinners and lived to tell the tale. One man who had founded the club from the ground up with Creed and Tex before the rest of us ever came along.

  Rebel.

  The schemer.

  The traitor.

  The liar.

  “Make sure,” Caitlin said softly, eyes tight around the edges.

  I took a deep breath and let it out, keeping the frantic energy that rose while thinking about the backstabbing fucker at bay. It took a few rounds of those deep breaths before my blood cooled.